In Pieces
by only-because3
Summary: Dark clothing and souls spreading across white fabric, soiling everything it will come to represent. BL ONESHOT. Happy birthday Emma


Hey all! So writing has kinda been taking a back-seat due to my very busy senior year. Anyway, this is my birthday present to Emma so I hope you like it! The bulk of it is set after 6x04 I suppose (my memory of the S6 timeline is fuzzy so I apologize if that doesn't match up). Thanks to Corey and Lizzy for reading over it for me. Hope y'all enjoy! :D

Brooke sighs to herself, placing her purse on the bare counter top in what used to be her clothing store. Now, as she looks around, she sees nothing but her broken dreams. She flips on her ipod and takes off her sweater as she settles down on a stool. She flips open her sketch pad and starts sketching her best friend's wedding dress. It's the only thing that keeps her busy now. She has no business to worry about, refuses to think about the attack as much as she can, and so the only thing she does all day long is sketch, sketch, sketch.

It's hard sometimes though. Because when she sits alone she realizes that she is in fact alone. Alone at home, alone at work, alone everywhere. It's times like those that she begins debating if it's worth it anymore. Putting up the fake front for Haley and Jamie and Nathan. But then she reminds herself that she is Brooke Penelope fucking Davis and that she can do this. Life's been a bitch to her so far and she knows that one day her day to shine will come.

Hopefully.

She sighs once more and then focuses on the activity at hand. Makes wispy pencil marks for the bottom of the dress and sighs. She loves making wedding dresses and thanks to Lucas Scott she gets to make two in three months.

She glances up and looks out the windows to, surprisingly, see him standing on the other side of the street. He looks troubled and he has coffee in one hand, the other in his pocket. He's staring at the building and she gets up to move towards the glass door. "What the hell is he doing," she asks herself, fiddling with the necklace that lays against her skin. From what she can tell he's squinting and she's trying to figure out what on earth he could be brooding about. He's engaged, happy, and has just released another book.

He looks for a moment longer and then starts to walk away. Before she can even register why she's doing it, she opens the door and shouts, "Lucas!" He turns to look at her and she waves him over. He jogs up to the steps and she asks if he's okay.

"Yeah. Sorry if I freaked you out. I've just been missing my mom and sometimes if I try real hard, I can see the store as it used to be," he tells her, shrugging slightly.

She nods and smiles at him, rubbing her bare arms to try and warm them up as the cold night wind makes its way in through the open door. "Do you want to come in? It's freezing outside," she asks and watches as he contemplates it. Peyton would be expecting him but, what the hell? Peyton had been worrying about Brooke a lot recently anyway. It'd be good to check in on her.

"Sure."

She smiles again and then turns to walk back to her sketches. "So, I'm gonna be working on Peyton's wedding dress. I'm debating letting you have any input," she says with a laugh, stopping to check the thermostat on the back wall. She makes sure it's kept at 70 degrees, warm enough to keep her comfortable. When she glances back at Lucas, she notices that he hasn't moved. "Are you okay?"

His jaw is locked, his fist clenched so tight that his knuckles have turned white. He doesn't answer her, just takes huge steps forward. And when he stands in front of her, he grabs her arm softly, gently. She's confused and worried and she knows he can tell because he tells her, "I won't hurt you." She nods slowly and then he tries to turn her around and then it's instant.

She rips her arm from his grasp and backs away. "Let me see," he tells her and she shakes her head.

"I fell down the stairs a few weeks ago. A few bruises left over, nothing major." She brushes him off and walks over to the counter, grabbing her sweater and putting it back on.

"Left over? They're as dark as it is outside," he remarks, following her as she tries to busy herself around the empty shop. "There's no way you could've gotten those falling down the stairs..."

She snaps around, eyebrow arched in anger. "Are you calling me a liar?"

His shoulders slump and he shakes his head. "What really happened Brooke?"

"I fell down the stairs," she spits in short clipped words. He's getting angrier, she can see it in his face. His eyebrows are scrunched together and he keeps flexing his hand.

"Who did that to you? Was it that Owen guy, is that why you're lying?" She laughs in his face. Whole heartily laughs because he knows so very little about her now. He's never known much about her though; always at arms length and whenever he's securely in someone else's arms, it's like she barely exists.

"Maybe if you ever stepped out of your perfect little world, you'd realize that I haven't seen Owen since I got Angie," she exclaims, walking into the storage room in order to get away from him. She needs to busy herself and she pulls her sweater tighter around her body as she grabs the rolls of white silk that lays on an otherwise empty shelf.

"You think I live in a perfect world? You don't know shit about what's going on with me," he yells after her and when she comes out of the dark hallway with rolls of fabric in her arms, he notices the cut that slices through her eyebrow.

"How would I! I'm a fucking outsider looking in on your life Lucas! You don't speak to me anymore; as soon as you got back with Peyton, I was forgotten about," she yells back with just as much force, throwing down the expensive cloth that's meant for his future bride. Had this been any other occasion she would _never_ treat the fabric like this but he was getting her so worked up that it was taking all she had to not throw them at him. "And don't you dare try to deny it, you know it's the truth. Otherwise you'd know what the fuck was going on with me and why I have _nothing_ and why I'm bruised from head to fucking toe!"

She's shaking. Her body hurts, the fading bruises and scratches aching while she screams at him. Her knees are becoming weak with the amount of force that's running through her used body. "You are so _selfish_," she mutters, tears threatening to spill from those broken hazel eyes.

He watches with a locked jaw as she spreads fabric everywhere, feverishly making lines before she shaking her head and moving to a different section. Her hair that was lying pin straight on her shoulders is now messy and in a half hearted bun and he can hear her sniff as her head hangs down. "I'm sorry that I've pushed you aside, but damn it Brooke, how the hell am I supposed to know how you are if you don't ever tell me what's going on?" She looks up, eyes narrowed and he continues before she can start. "I ask you what happened and you blow up at me... I can only do so much when you're so closed off."

"Why should I tell you anything Lucas? You saw how beat up my face was at Q's funeral, Peyton must've told you how different I had been acting. But did you ever once stop by to check on me? No, you didn't and I'm okay with that. Just don't come in now and expect me to fall into your flawless life like everything that's ever happened between us was just a fucking dream." She's saying too much. She sounds like she needs him and misses him and she doesn't; she can't. She's over this high school triangle and she's over Lucas Scott. But she'd be damned if he didn't wake up something inside her, whether it be anger, hurt, or love.

She sits on her knees, looking up at his far away form and silently pleads in the dark for him to just leave. It's quiet, so quiet in the dimly lit space and he's just staring at her; boring holes into her body and all she can do is stay slumped in a mess of white fabric. Out of nowhere, he walks forward and sits directly in front of her, his dirty shoes creating dark marks on otherwise pristine satin. Slowly, he takes her shaking hands into his and he looks her straight in the eyes. "I'm _trying_ now. _Please_ let me in so I can save you."

She rips her hands away from his and moves to straighten out her skirt. "I'm not yours to save anymore."

"Who else is gonna do it then?"

"Someone who will save me when they promise to," she answers and he frowns with those cold blue eyes of his.

"You judge me by the boy I was five years ago," he says sadly before getting up. She keeps looking towards the back of her store, refusing to turn around and see him leave. "I'm not the one who's leaving this in pieces. I can only try so much without getting anything in return. So stay here, alone with all your secrets."

"You were a better boy than you are a man," she whispers as he opens the door. "Because the boy I loved would've given me a reason to trust the truth in his lies." She stands up slowly and walks over to the counter, gripping the only light source in her hands. "I have _never_ been the one to leave this _shattered_."

"I always fought for you," he yells, voice echoing in the empty room.

In one swoop she throws it at him. "Bullshit!" He narrowly misses the chrome lamp, the bulb breaking into pieces and the glass door cracking when the metal hits it. "Whenever it got remotely hard you gave up! So do not give me that sh-" He's in front of her now, his lips on hers, his hands clutching on to her face. It's rough and fast and it's so instinctual. He slips his tongue into her mouth, she meets it. His hands move to the bottom of her dress, she starts unbuttoning his shirt.

With the light now broken against the door, it's dark in the small store, the only light coming from the moon outside. It's late now, everything closed up and everyone home. So when she manages to get his shirt unbuttoned, she doesn't hesitate. Just throws it anywhere before shivering as his fingers slowly trail up the faded bruise on her thigh. They shouldn't be doing this. It only complicates everything and things between them shouldn't be complicated anymore.

She pulls away from him and his hands stop in their tracks on her body. She doesn't want to ask questions about this but she just needs to say something, put some sort of logic on this situation. "You don't love me," she states, a bit of question in her voice.

"That's not," he begins but she puts her fingers on his lips to silence him.

"If you don't love me this is less wrong," she mutters, trying to believe the truth in her words. "It's not like we're cheating on her with our hearts... this has nothing to do with feelings..." She looks up at him helplessly and he doesn't know what to tell her. "Tell me you don't love me."

He stares at her cautiously before shaking his head. "I can't do that."

She pushes him. "Tell me you don't love me!"

"I don't love you," he mutters and it's all she needs. She's back against his body, slender fingers moving to un-work his belt fast.

They both know his words are a lie. But in a way, it makes Brooke feel better. If he can find it in himself to even lie and say he doesn't love her, then she can pretend that he does love Peyton more. And if she thinks that she's below Peyton, well, it's gonna make the guilt be almost non existent.

Hopefully.

They're moving fast; every movement rushed and rough except for when he touches her skin with his hands. He's careful, cautious because of the stains on her fragile body and it almost annoys her. He's treating her like a tulip in winter and it makes her feel weak again even though the pain her body feels on a daily basis has decreased. So she starts kissing him harder, molds her body to his and in a few seconds, they crash down to the floor. Dark clothing and souls spreading across white fabric, soiling everything it will come to represent.

His hands move up her thighs, pushing up her dress as he does so. She moves her hips, applying pressure to the bulge she can feel between her legs. Red lips never leave the ones that will be left smudged with color when he goes home in the morning. She moves her kisses to his chest, going further and further down, pushing his pants down as she goes along. She takes him in her hands, looking up at his face as she begins to stroke. His eyes close and he rests his head on the ground.

They haven't been like this in a long time. She's forgotten the shape of his body and how he feels and how he always enjoys it so much. She continues for a few more minutes, getting him more worked up than he thought possible. He reaches down and laces his fingers through her hair, tugging on the dark locks so that she'll come back to his lips. She slithers back up his body like a snake, face not as devious as one would expect. Instead, when he looks at her face, it's soft and broken and relaxed. He pushes back her hair that falls in her face before moving his hand to the zipper on the back of her dress.

His warm hand finds her soft skin, dragging his fingers slowly, softly, up and down her back. "I'm sorry."

She shakes her head and sits up. "You have nothing to apologize for." She pulls the dress over her head and then looks down at him, the black lace on her body being the only thing to stop them from ruining everything. His eyes roam her body, finding faded bruises everywhere and he moves to outline each one. And every time his hand moves to another bruise, she shivers, cold eyes closing so she can't look at what he's doing.

"Are you sure about this?" he asks, hands cupping each breast gently.

"Are you?" she questions back, locking eyes with him before she stands. She hooks her fingers underneath the fabric at her hips and pulls the underwear down her legs, kicking them off once they reach her feet. Her arms move across her stomach shyly before she straddles him again. His hands instinctively go to her hips before she lifts her cracked body up to slide down on him.

It's been so long since she's been with anyone, much less him. And god has she missed it, missed him. He still knows her body well and she halfway hates it. His body had slowly become a mystery to her over the years yet he still seems to know every mark, every line, every imperfection he sees perfectly. He pushes into her every time she starts to come down and he keeps awakening these feelings inside her that she hasn't felt in such a long time. He's making her feel _fantastic_ and the jealous demon inside her head wonders if he does this with Peyton.

Her thoughts are chased away when one of his hands slides inwards, his rough hand landing right _there_. His thumb begins to rub her as she continues to move up and down on top of him. Never once does he take his eyes off her. Refuses to look away when her head rolls back in pleasure or when she looks down at him with that devious grin he remembers from high school or when she clenches around him and goes faster.

He wants to see her face when he gives her that moment of pure happiness, the moment that will be a stark contrast to the life that has plagued her the last month. Wants to see the moment that will hopefully spark her back into living instead of holing up inside her once famed boutique. And when she pulls her plump bottom lip underneath her teeth's grasp, he knows it's coming; that _she's_ coming. He observes how her mouth falls, eyes clench shut, and how the loudest, most beautiful moan escapes her parted lips. Within seconds he has to shut his eyes because the feeling of her releasing around him is too great and he screams her name as she collapses on top of him.

It's quiet as they regain normal breath,. They're both gasping and panting and their sweaty bodies stick to one another. She absently traces the number three on his shoulder, on top of his old tattoo. He holds her tight, arms wrapped around her naked body to keep her close. After a few minutes, her hears her sniffing and feels warm liquid fall on to his chest. "Brooke?"

"I don't know why I'm crying," she mutters, lifting her head so that her chin rests on his chest. She looks up at him, tears spilling from her eyes and tries to shrug. With his arms still around her, he lifts both her and himself so that now they're sitting. Her legs wrap around his hips and he starts to kiss away every tear as it escapes her eyes. "This was all wrong..."

He shakes his head and pushes back her hair. "No it's not."

"You're with Peyton."

"I love you." She starts crying harder and harder and she just ducks her head into the crook of his neck. He rubs her back for the rest of the night, even after she calms down and repeats the only thing that will give her some attempted peace.

"It won't change anything."

* * *

The wedding comes two months later. She bought new fabric for Peyton's wedding dress because she knows she wouldn't be able to look at her best friend had she used it. The dress is beautiful and fits her best friend perfectly. Peyton's blonde hair is wavy, pulled back into a half ponytail that Jamie jokingly called a mullet. She has red lips and dark eyes and her shoes are black. The wedding is oddly conventional and Brooke has to recognize again just how much the bride has softened.

She stands one step below Peyton, looking at her workmanship before moving her eyes to Lucas. He's staring at Peyton, _only_ Peyton and she's glad. This is the way it should be. This is how it _has_ to be.

While the two exchange vows, she wonders if he'll notice. Notice that the dress she wears is the fabric they laid upon two months ago. And that instead of using it to make Peyton's dress, she dyed it blue and made it in to the dress she wears as Peyton's maid of _honor. _

He says each word of his vows with certainty and when he slides Karen's ring on Peyton's finger she has to stop herself from stopping him. 'She doesn't deserve that ring' cries the jealous demon inside her and she shakes her head. When the priest announces them man and wife, she smiles brightly and claps like everyone else in the church.

At the reception, just before the first dance, Brooke gives her speech. She stands up, showcased in sin to everyone as she gives a speech about how in love Lucas and Peyton are. How their love has overcome many obstacles (leaving out that because of that she was heartbroken for years) and that they truly are meant for eachother.

Peyton sits with a smile on her face, her hand holding Lucas', thoroughly touched by Brooke's half hearted speech. She tries not to look at her. Tries to focus on other guests instead of the couple she's supposedly describing. But Lucas keeps staring at her and when she meets his eyes, her voice falters; stumbling over the word love. She finishes shortly after and Peyton immediately hugs her and tells her what a fantastic speech she gave.

Then Lucas hugs her, whispering, "I love your dress," in her ear.


End file.
